Of Chickens and Spilled Milk
by Kayden Eidyak
Summary: To avoid being caught when the Commodore inspects his ship, Jack Sparrow must stay with a pub owner and his family until his crew returns from inspection. Only problem is, Jack went to the wrong person and is mistaken for the new farmhand. COMPLETE!
1. Part 1

**A/N:** A TREMENDOUS amount of thanks goes to ErinRua and EstelWolfe. This would be riddled with many embarrassing errors if it were not for their considerate time and effort. Thank you very, very much!

**Disclaimer:** It's not mine. None of it's mine. Well, Ok. Part of it's mine. The cows are mine.

**Of Chickens and Spilled Milk**

**Part One**

**By Kayden Eidyak**

"We'll be back in a few days. A week at the most, I promise."

Jack cocked an eyebrow and gave Anamaria a very skeptical look.

"But why can't I just hide on the ship?" he asked, his face coming very close to a pout.

Anamaria sighed patiently. "Because. When he gets here, he's bound to search the ship. He'll question every person, parrot and bilge rat. You _can't_ be here."

"My ship does _not_ have rats," Jack insisted stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She rolled her eyes. "Get in the boat, Jack."

Jack glared at her. She glared back.

"Boat, now!"

Jack threw down his arms, tromped over to the railing, swung his leg over, and sat down in the boat with a prominent _thump_.

Anamaria leaned over the railing, fixing him with a stern look. "It's all been arranged. Go to the pub - _without_ ordering any rum - and ask for Mr. Sunders. He'll take you to his home, and you can stay there until we return."

"Which pub, though?" Jack inquired.

"There's only one pub there, Jack. I'm sure you'll manage."

He gaped at her.

"But how will I know when you've come back for me?" he asked desperately, the thought of only one pub in the entire town sending him nearly into hysterics.

"I'll come get you. Only for a few days. We'll be back before you know it."

She smiled at him and pushed his hat down over his eyes. He yanked it back up and gave her a scowl as she and Gibbs clambered in after him.

"See ya later, Cap'n," one of the crewman called

Jack waved back to the crew, a sappy, fake smile plastered over his face.

Gibbs and Anamaria picked up the oars and rowed the captain to shore.

"Give my regards to the Commodore," he said, disembarking from the small vessel and setting off with his sea-sway stride to a run down building. He waved to them one last time before going inside.

"Well, that's that," Anamaria said, as they returned to the Pearl.

"We're ne'er gonna hear the end of this when he gets back," Gibbs muttered.

"Don't I know it," Anamaria replied. "But the Commodore will search the ship, find no trace of Jack, and will let us on our way without pressing charges - we hope,"

Gibbs nodded. "We hope," he repeated

Jack opened the creaky door that was literally falling off its hinges. It squealed horribly as it closed with a slam behind him.

"Door needs some oil," he said absently.

"Oh, aye. Been meanin' to get it fixed for the longest time, I have," a wheezy voice said.

Jack squinted in the dingy room to see a man almost half his own height hobbling out from behind the counter.

"May I help you?"

Jack stared for a moment before regaining composure.

"Ah, yes, sir. I'm looking for a Mr. Sunders. Do you know where I might find him?"

"Aye, Mr. Sunders is in the back. You must be his new farm hand."

"I must?"

"Aye, he's been talking about you for the last couple weeks," the old man added, turning around and making his way to a door behind the bar.

Jack followed, wondering what exactly Anamaria had gotten him into.

"James, your new farm hand has arrived."

A man a few years older than Jack looked up from what appeared to be an inventory sheet.

"Oh. We weren't expecting you for another week at least. Thank you, Tom."

Tom nodded feebly and went back out to tend the bar.

Silence.

Jack rocked back and forth on his feet, then bounced up and down slightly on his toes. As a last resort, he cleared his throat loudly.

Mr. Sunders glanced up at him.

"So, Nathan Cummins, it is, isn't it?"

Jack blinked.

"Oh! Er, yes, um…I think so anyway."

Mr. Sunders looked curiously at him. "I see." He scribbled something down on his paper and then set it aside. "Well, Mr. Cummins, if you'll follow me, I'll take you up to the house. It's not too far, so I'll be able to get back here before the noontime rush."

Jack flashed a somewhat nervous smile, but followed Mr. Sunders out of the smidge of a pub and up a steepish hill. There sat a small grey house, a small grey barn, a small grey chicken coop surrounded by a fence and a small grey woodshed.

"Lovely place, you've got here, Mr. Sunders."

Mr. Sunders did not answer. He took off his hat and opened the door. "Penny, I've brought Mr. Cummins."

"Oh, he's arrived already?" A woman around Mr. Sunders' age with maple-nut brown hair pulled up in a bun came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. She stopped abruptly when she saw Jack's appearance. Laughing nervously, she said, "Would you like some lunch, Mr. Cummins?"

Jack smiled slightly. "Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Sunders. I've…already eaten."

"Very well. Bryan will show you where you can sleep," she said, patting the shoulder of a boy around twelve that had just entered the room and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Jack.

Jack gave what he hoped was a friendly smile, but it seemed to scare the boy even more.

"Go on, Bryan, show Mr. Cummins where he can stay in the barn."

The boy nodded silently, slipping past his parents and Jack, casting a furtive glance behind him as he went through the door.

"Well, I must go, Penny. I'll see you tonight," Mr. Sunders said.

"Goodbye, James."

He kissed his wife goodbye and nodded to Jack as he passed. Jack followed after him with the intentions of going with the boy to the barn when Mr. Sunders stopped him.

"You lay a hand on her or the boy and I'll kill you," he whispered fiercely.

Jack's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise before he nodded vigorously. He was way out of his element here.

Mr. Sunders smiled. "Good day, Mr. Cummins."

"Good day to you, Mr. Sunders," Jack returned, as the man strode away down the hill and out of sight.

The pirate looked around uncertainly, not knowing what to expect.

"C'mon," Bryan called from the barn door.

Jack followed the boy who led him up to the loft and pointed to the far corner where a pile of somewhat dusty blankets lay in a heap.

"When you've settled in, we can start chores," Bryan said timidly.

"Excuse me?"

"Chores. You know, milk the cows, feed the horses, gather eggs, muck the stable."

"Oh, right." Jack nodded, trying to appear like he understood everything that was happening to him.

They were silent for a moment.

"Is that a real sword?" the boy inquired, pointing to the scabbard at Jack's side.

_No, it's a little wooden one that I carry around to scare people with,_ Jack thought to himself. That thought, of course, brought back his first meeting with Norrington. "…and I half expected it to be made of wood." Jack grinned.

"Yes, it's real." He pulled it out and flipped it around the way Will did when he was showing off.

The boy gasped with awe. "Wow."

Jack's smile brightened and he sheathed the sword.

"BRYAN!" Penny called.

"Got to go," Bryan said apologetically. "I'll be back for you when it's time for chores," he added, clambering down the ladder.

"I look forward to it," Jack said half-heartedly.

Jack looked around his new accommodations. It couldn't be any less comfortable than a ship, he reasoned. Though, blankets on a ship smelled like well, a ship. And these…he sniffed one gingerly…smelled like horses.

He took off his hat, pistol, sword and compass and laid them on one of the blankets. He was going to stink by the time he left this place.

Jack was waiting for Bryan, sitting on the bottom rung of the ladder, when the boy came to get him for chores.

He handed Jack two of his four silver buckets.

"What're these for?" he asked.

Bryan looked at him with a "well isn't it obvious?" expression on his face. "They're for milking the cows, of course."

"Of course," Jack repeated. "Why didn't I think of that?" he muttered, and followed the boy to the end of the barn where four cows were already tethered, waiting to be milked.

"How come this one isn't getting milked?" Jack asked, pointing to a ridiculously fat cow in a pen by herself.

"Oh, that's Nessley. We're waiting for her to calve, still. She's the last one."

"Oh." Jack looked at the honey colored animal who stared balefully back with mud brown eyes. "So?"

"So what?" Bryan asked, picking up a stool from inside the feed trough.

"So, why can't we milk her?"

"Be_cause_ she hasn't calved yet."

"So?"

"Well, they've got to have a calf before they can have milk," Bryan explained patiently.

"They do?" Jack asked. "I thought they just gave milk all the time. You learn somethin' new every day," he mused to himself, scratching his chin.

Bryan gave him a look of disbelief. "You _do_ know how to milk a cow, don't you?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course I do. Why, where I come from, we milk forty of them every day."

The boy eyed him skeptically, but did not comment. "Here, you can use the stool. I don't need it."

Jack stared at the object. "It's broken, mate."

"No, it isn't. I just made this one two months ago."

"It is too. Look, it's only got one leg."

"It's only supposed to have one leg," Bryan said. "That's what a milking stool is. Look, you just sit like this and balance on it," the boy demonstrated.

It didn't look too hard, Jack figured. He took the stool and went over to a brown-and-white-splotched cow.

"What's this one's name?" he asked, patting the beast tentatively on the rump.

"That's Dainty."

"Ah. Right."

He squatted down and peered under the bellies and udders of the three cows on his left to see Bryan already milking away into his pail. The pirate sat the one-legged stool down and tried to sit on it the way Bryan had shown him. He promptly lost his balance and fell off.

"Mooo," Dainty said.

"I agree," Jack said, nodding.

After another five attempts and absolutely no success, Jack gave up. He turned the stool over onto its seat and slid it under the three cows back to Bryan.

"Here ya go, mate. I really don't need it."

Bryan took it without a word, though Jack was certain he could hear sniggering muffled by a cow's flank.

Jack set his pail under Dainty's udder and stared at it uncertainly. Looking back, he saw Bryan methodically squeezing. Right hand, left hand, right hand, left hand, each one followed by a stream of milk. Looked easy enough. He followed suit: right hand, left hand, right hand left hand…no milk. He tried it again. Right hand, left hand, right hand, left hand. Still nothing.

"Say, Bryan, I think there's summat wrong with this cow. She doesn't have any milk."

"Impossible," he stated, getting up and coming over.

The boy knelt down beside Jack and with two quick squeezes, promptly got two foamy streams of milk.

"She's got loads of milk, Nathan. What are you talking about?"

Clearly, Jack was missing something.

"Like this. You squeeze at the top first, then work your way down."

Bryan went back to his own cow and ten minutes later, Jack produced his very first stream of milk. It was little more than a dribble, but it was better than nothing he figured.

"Done with her yet?" Bryan asked.

Jack looked alarmed. "Should I be?"

"Well, I'm finished with these two, but I'll start on your other one for you."

"Sure," Jack muttered, trying for all he was worth to get milk from the cow.

When Bryan had finished with the third cow, Jack had roughly two cups in his pail. Bryan put his stool on the other side of Dainty and milked her dry. Jack accumulated another cup and a half.

"Here, I'll finish the rest," Bryan said.

Jack got up gratefully, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. Bryan had Dainty finished in no time at all and he let the cows back into their pens.

"Help me take this milk to mother. She needs to strain it, and we can give the rest to the calves. Then we can feed the horses and such."

Jack picked up the two pails that were to be strained and chilled. That was easy enough. They were halfway to the house when Jack tripped over a large rock that was poking out of the ground, succeeding in sloshing half of the bucket's contents all over his pants, down his leg and straight into his boot.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, dropping the two pails and hopping around on one foot, trying to wrestle his boot off.

It finally came off so suddenly that Jack fell backwards and quickly found himself flat on the ground. Bryan rushed over to help him up, but Jack swatted him away.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he grumbled, emptying his boot of milk. He stood up and shoved his foot back in with a grimace.

"We can wash it in the stream after we're done tonight," Bryan offered.

Jack nodded tightly, picking up the now half empty pails, and continued to the house, squelching with every step.

"Good gracious, what happened to all the milk?" Mrs. Sunders asked, when he set down the buckets.

"Mr. Cummins tripped and part of it spilled," Bryan explained.

Penny glanced at Jack who gave her his most charming smile.

"Well, just be more careful next time. You better hurry with the rest of your chores. Dinner will be ready soon. The point of getting a farm hand was to make things go faster, not slower, you know."

"Yes, mother."

Back in the barn Bryan handed Jack a pitchfork.

"Now, put hay from this pile over here," Bryan pointed to a large pile of hay, "into these feeders over here," he pointed to several feed troughs where various animals waited anxiously for their dinner. "I'm going to haul up some water."

Jack nodded and stuck the pitchfork into the hay pile. He pulled it out and was satisfied to have a large lump of hay on the end. He slowly swung it around to dump into the hay trough. Six inches from the feeder's rim all the hay fell off the fork. Jack scowled at it and once again scooped it up. It made it successfully into the feeder and Jack went back for another fork full. This one fell off before he even had it free of the pile. By the time the third scoop had fallen, Jack threw the pitchfork to one side and began taking great armfuls of hay and putting it into the feeder himself. He was making good time, he thought. Already had two feeders full. He was making his way to the third one when what should he trip over now, but the discarded pitchfork.

"Are you all right, Nathan?" Bryan asked, choosing that moment to come through the door. On purpose, no doubt, Jack figured.

"Of course," Jack said, getting to his feet, and he began scooping up the hay again.

"It's easier if you use the pitchfork," the boy commented.

"No, this is fine, thanks," Jack said quickly.

"Ok, well, while you do that, then I'll muck out the pens."

"You do that."

Jack had all the animals fed by the time Bryan had finished.

"Now we have to gather the eggs."

"Isn't that women's work?" Jack asked, his boot squishing uncomfortably with every step.

"Ma's too busy to gather eggs," Bryan replied shortly.

"Uh-huh," Jack replied moodily.

"Look, just go in there, move the hens out of the way, and take the eggs out and put them in this basket."

Bryan presented a basket from seemingly nowhere and handed it to Jack.

"What're you gonna do?"

"I've got to pen the goats up and give the calves their milk."

Bryan walked off leaving Jack standing in front of the coop with a dubious look on his face.

"Into the coop…" Jack opened the door and closed it behind him. That was easy enough. "Move the hens out of the way…" He reached out uncertainly. "Shoo," he said flapping his hand at the chicken.

The hen squawked indignantly and pecked at him.

"Hey, now!"

Jack snatched his injured hand back, becoming suddenly aware of the close confines of the coop with chickens on all sides, eyeing him up.

"Easy there, lasses," Jack said soothingly, reaching hesitantly out to another one.

"Ouch!" He jumped back. "Blast it, all I want are your bloody eggs!"

The hens began clucking nervously with all his ranting.

Jack glared at one of the nearest hens and on impulse, he let his basket swing and swatted her right off her nest. He lunged for the three eggs that sat in the dent of straw as the hen came back, squawking bloody murder and attacked Jack's legs, pecking at them for all she was worth.

"Hey! Get off me! Get off, get off!

He flung the basket at the hen, accidentally smacking another one off her nest in the process, and of course sending the three eggs that were in the basket splattering against the wall.

Well, the fight was on. Chickens versus Pirate. All of them were off their nests, nervous and riled, all running, squawking and pecking. Feathers flew and eggs broke right and left.

Amidst this chaos the rooster strutted in from outside, his feathers puffed out. Well aware that _someone_ was causing considerable distress to his hens, he crowed menacingly and went for Jack, screaming a battle cry.

Bryan latched the gate to the goat pen securely and collected the empty buckets from the calves, hoping Nathan had finished with the eggs because he was starving.

There was silence for the most part around the chicken coop and Bryan approached with some amount of trepidation.

"Nathan?" he called, uncertainly.

Jack strolled out of the building, the dimness of the settling dusk hiding his features.

"Everything all right?" The boy held his lantern up higher and Jack met his gaze with one of utter annoyance.

He was covered from head to toe with feathers and straw. Chicken droppings were smattered all over his clothes, mixed with egg yolk and spatters of blood.

Bryan was speechless.

Jack examined his arms and attempted brushing them off, with a few "ptu, ptus" to dislodge inhaled feathers added in for good measure. He examined one of his boots and took note of the clumps of straw and chicken manure plastered to the bottoms.

"Everything's just fine, mate," Jack said slapping on his characteristic grin. "Here." He tossed an object to Bryan and strode away in the direction of the stream.

Bryan caught the object deftly. It was a single egg.

"All right. I'll just…um…clean up around here…" Bryan said to Jack's retreating back.

"You do that, mate," Jack called back.

Bryan slowly opened the door to the coop and peered in, raising his lantern.

"Oh my…" The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a sudden shriek of tumultuous chicken squawking. Eggs were splatted all over the place and the rooster was pinned to the wall with a dagger.

Bryan stepped back out and closed the door.

"Bryan!" Penny called.

Bryan groaned. "Coming, mother. We're nearly done."

He set off at a trot to the stream.

"Dinner's ready, Nathan."

Jack was scrubbing furiously at his red headscarf. His hair was dripping and his boots were propped upside down against a rock. The pirate didn't answer.

"Say, Nathan, will you be able to handle doing chores by yourself tomorrow morning?"

Jack stopped scrubbing abruptly and pivoted around on his rock to give him a hard look.

"Come again?"

"Well, I've got to go to school tomorrow morning and Da usually does them, but he's been really busy at work, so that's why you're here."

Jack just stared at him momentarily in complete disbelief.

"Of course I can," he said at last, returning to his scrubbing.

"Well, if you're sure. Because I suppose Da could stay for a few minutes to help you…"

"No. No, no. That's fine. I'll, um… I'll be fine."

"All right, but you've got to milk all four of the cows…"

"Again?" Jack exclaimed, whirling around once more. "We just milked them!"

"Yes, I know, they have to be milked twice a day."

Jack sighed and wrung out his scarf before scrubbing on it again.

"So you have to milk them dry, then let them out to pasture."

"Mm-hmm."

"And give part of the milk to the calves."

"Yup."

"And you have to put the goats into the pasture."

"Right."

"And…" Bryan lowered his voice. "You have to gather the eggs…if there are any," he added clearing his throat.

"Sure."

"Feed the horses..."

"Aye."

"…and the sheep…"

"Yep."

"…and the pigs."

"Uh-huh."

"You know, just do everything we did tonight, tomorrow morning."

"You got it, lad."

"Except…Nathan…"

"Yeah?"

"Um…don't spill the milk. And um…well, don't skewer any more chickens…"

Jack turned around again, grinning for all he was worth before tying his wet, wrinkled and slightly stained headscarf back around his head.

"Sure thing, mate. I can handle it. No problem."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"Come on, lad. Dinner's waiting."

Jack tugged on his wet boots and squelched all the way back to the house.

Penny and James were just sitting down at the table. They both looked up and stared at Jack when he entered.

James cleared his throat. "You know Mr. Cummins, we could have heated water over the stove if you wanted a bath."

"What? Oh! Oh, no. That's quite all right. Er, you know. Cold water's so refreshing and all."

"Merciful heavens what happened to your hands?" Penny asked, catching sight of Jack's chicken-bit and bruised hands.

Jack took an elongated breath, giving himself time to come up with an excuse.

"Blackberries."

"Blackberries?" they repeated in unison, wondering where on earth the man had found blackberries. He was obviously quite mad.

"Yes, blackberries. I was so very hungry you see and I just reached in without thinking and grabbed meself a handful and got my hands all scraped up in the process."

"Oh," Penny said, her eyes wide. She continued to spoon carrots onto her plate without paying attention to the amount she had already.


	2. Part 2

**Of Chickens and Spilled Milk**

**Part two**

**By Kayden Eidyak**

After Jack finished his dinner, he headed back out to the barn and into the loft where he attempted to make himself a sort of bed with the musty blankets, one of which had already been made home to a family of mice.

Fortunately, being a sailor had long since taught him to get up with or before the dawn if the need arises, so when Bryan came to rouse him, he was already awake and mostly dressed, still pulling on his slightly damp boots.

Bryan ran through the to-do list one last time before hurrying back into the kitchen to eat. Jack followed at a more sedate pace, his thumbs looped in his sash, whistling a tune to himself.

After breakfast, Bryan hurried off to school, Mr. Sunders departing soon after for work in the pub, leaving Jack quite alone. He collected the milk pails from Mrs. Sunders and traipsed into the barn, where the cows were waiting for him, their heads all hanging over the gate in anticipation.

He stared at them a moment, wondering how best to go about getting them out of their pen and tied up to the wall. Deciding there was nothing else to do, he opened the gate and let one shuffle out. She took up her spot along the wall and waited. Jack went over and tied a rope to her collar and went back for the next one. Each followed suit of the first and within no time, Jack had a row of four cows waiting for him to make the next move.

Jack eyed the one-legged stool, wondering if he should even attempt its use. He cast his glance around the barn, his eye falling on an unused bucket. Upturning it, he sat it down beside the first cow and tested his weight on it.

"Perfect," he said. "Now then. Top to bottom."

So he did. Starting at the top, Jack closed each finger in turn, a steady stream of milk running into the pail.

"Ah ha!" he shouted in triumph, startling his cow and causing her to shift nervously and stamp her foot in the pail.

"Now then! See here, lass, no reason for that!"

Jack pulled on the bucket, but Daisy - or whatever her name was - had her foot planted firmly in the pail. He groaned and leaned his head against her flank.

What would he do if he encountered a person standing in a bucket that he needed? Why, he'd shove them right out of course…as unlikely as the scenario was.

Jack stood up and pushed experimentally on Daisy's side. Nothing happened. He pushed a little harder. She didn't budge.

"Hmmm."

Throwing his weight into it, Jack shoved against her hip for all he was worth. The cow begrudgingly shifted her weight, giving Jack enough time to kick the bucket out from under her.

Using some water from the horse's water trough, Jack rinsed out the soiled pail and began again.

Right hand, left hand, right hand left hand…

Soon the bucket was half full.

He was going to kill Anamaria for this.

Once the cows were milked, he let them off their ropes and opened the gate to the pasture. In a nice neat line they filed out to do their day's eating.

He carried the two buckets - one at a time - to Mrs. Sunders, who thanked him politely. Then he carried the other two buckets to the four calves who were bawling pathetically in their pen.

"Easy there, mates. Food's a-comin'."

The four calves crowded around the gate, their sticky tongues extending to their furthest lengths. Jack squeezed in, managing both to not spill the milk or let the calves out. They immediately swamped him, bawling and shoving, each trying to get to the milk first.

"Hey there!" he shouted, when one trod on his foot.

Jack held the milk up higher, trying to keep it out of their reach while at the same time trying to find a spot amidst the tightly packed heads to set the pails down. Of course, when the milk went up, so did the calves. One even attempted putting his front feet on Jack's leg. Jack took a step backwards and lost his balance when he bumped into another one, falling to the ground, landing with an audible splat in a cow pie and spilling milk all over himself.

That was the least of his worries. The calves stampeded towards him, pouncing on him all at once, licking, slurping and sucking at his clothes, the corner of his hat, his hair and even his goatee – anywhere milk had spilled.

Jack kicked and smacked his way out of the pile of calves and struggled to his feet. He vaulted the gate without even getting the pails and collapsed to the ground on the other side, wiping calf slobber out of his eyes, nose and mouth on a filthy sleeve, and rubbing his hands on any bit of clean space he could find on his trousers.

Staggering to his feet, he tackled the pitchfork again. It went rather well. By the third time he pretty much had the hang of it. Perhaps the day was taking a better turn.

Striding off to the goat's pen, Jack was met by a clamor of maa-ing.

"I'm comin,' I'm comin.'"

Just like little cows, he figured. Open the gate and…

"Hey, wait! Get back here!"

One, two, three, four, five goats, trotting out of the barn and into the yard.

So maybe it wasn't getting any better.

Jack let out a groan of frustration and ran after them, shouting a few choice phrases.

The next hour went as follows: Goats run in five random directions. Jack runs after goat number one, who skips and leaps just out of arm's reach. Jack runs after goat number three, who races ahead straight at the barn and just when Jack thinks it's going to run in, the goat turns at the last minute and races back past him. All goats regroup and discuss next plan of action. Jack sees goats just standing around and runs after them. Goats stand motionless until pirate is exactly three inches away, before they all scatter once more. Dog watches in amusement from under porch. Goat number two runs into barn and climbs up large pile of hay. Goats one, three, four and five follow suit, all jumping on hay pile, scattering it everywhere. Jack sprints into barn. All goats slide off pile and run back outside. Jack wipes forehead with dirty sleeve and falls down under the shade of a tree, panting. Goats stop playing and decide that this man is extremely boring and all go inside the barn, to wait by the gate that leads to the pasture _demanding_ to be let out.

Jack scrambled to his feet and loped after them, closing the barn door just in case they decided to bolt off again. They waited impatiently; goats two and four had their feet up on the gate. Jack opened it and they all raced out into the pasture.

"Just the chickens left," he muttered disdainfully, shoving the strewn hay back into a pile.

Jack found the basket hanging on a nail in the barn. He took it down and walked slowly to the coop. He opened the door a crack and peeked inside. A couple chickens clucked warningly and Jack closed the door again.

He stepped back, swinging the basket idling, wondering what to do. His glance fell upon the scruffy looking dog, lounging under the porch.

"Doggy! Here, boy. C'mere! Want some nice, tasty chicken?"

The dog got to his feet and trotted over to Jack. He opened the gate for the dog and knelt down to explain the plan.

"Now see here, mate. I want you to go in there, flush out them mangy birds while I go in and collect the eggs. And when we've finished, you can have a nice fat rooster, savvy?"

The dog listened intently and woofed slightly once he had his instructions.

Jack stood up and the dog ran to the coop, staring avidly at the small space between the door and its frame.

"Go get 'em!"

The dog ran inside barking and snapping. The chickens shrieked and flapped off their nests, running outside as fast as their legs could carry them. Once they were chased outside, Jack quietly crept in and closed the door behind him. He flitted around, putting eggs into the basket as quickly as he dared. He removed the rooster from the wall, stuffing the dagger into his boot. Coming out, he grabbed the dog, who had three hens trapped in a corner, by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the enclosure.

"Good dog," Jack said, patting him on the head and tossing the mutt the rooster.

The dog caught it and carried his prize back under the porch.

"There," Jack said, strolling back to the house with the eggs. "Cows, calves, goats, horses, sheep, pigs and …chickens." He wrinkled his nose.

Penny met him at the door and Jack had to resist the urge to tell her that if her eyes got any wider they would fall right out of her head.

"Just a second," she said, taking the eggs.

She came back a moment later with a lump of soap.

"Ah, thank you very much," Jack said grinning broadly.

He took the soap and went off to the stream to clean up – again.

When Bryan came home, he found Jack lounging against a tree, sharpening his dagger.

"Hullo, Nathan."

"'lo," Jack said lazily, testing the edge of the blade.

"How did it go?" Bryan asked, afraid of the answer.

Jack glanced up at the boy and grinned. "Beautifully. Couldn't have been better."

"Really?" the boy asked, somewhat astonished.

"Aye. Got the cows milked and the calves fed and the goat…" Jack coughed, "goats put out, and the eggs collected. I just finished about an hour ago, in fact."

"An hour ago…? Nathan, it should have…"

Jack threw the boy a warning glare.

Bryan clamped his mouth shut and went into the house. Grinning, Jack finished the dagger and set it beside his boots that were soggy and wet again from washing.

Bryan came out about an hour later and stood before Jack, the milking pails clanking.

"S'time already?" Jack asked, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Where are the other two pails?" Bryan asked, a slight edge in his voice.

Jack lifted his hat up slightly, peering up at the boy who had an expression something like annoyance on his face.

"In with the little buggers," Jack said casually.

Bryan groaned in exasperation. "Come on, Nathan. We gotta get the chores done."

Jack sighed and put his boots on and rolled to his feet, stretching exaggeratedly.

"If you insist," he yawned.

"Here, you start milking; I'm going to get the other two buckets."

Jack took them and swaggered off to collect the cows.

He had just settled down on his upturned bucket when he heard his name being called, none too nicely.

"NATHAN!"

"Be right back, ladies," Jack said standing up and patting Dainty on her side.

He set off at a trot for the calf pen and peered over the gate to find Bryan struggling with a calf, who had one of the buckets stuck on his head, the handle caught over his little horn stubs.

"Help me get this thing off!"

Jack turned his laugh into a cough and smothered his smile with a sleeve. He climbed over the fence and held the calf still while Bryan twisted, wiggled and eased the bucket off the frantic youngster's head.

When it finally came free, they both fell backwards, Bryan with the pail clutched in his hands, Jack with the hundred pound calf on his chest. Bryan got up and helped get the struggling animal back on his feet and off of Jack.

"Don't leave buckets in the calf pen," Bryan said sternly.

The boy left without another word and stalked to the house to get the buckets washed.

"Don't leave buckets in the calf pen," Jack mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Yes, _mother_."

He went back to the cows and was nearly finished with Dainty by the time Bryan came back with the clean pails.

Jack was done with his other cow before Bryan had finished with his two. He went off to give out hay. When he came back. Bryan was leaning over the gate of Nessley's pen, patting her head and talking softly to her.

"She's going to calve soon," Bryan commented, his tone suggesting he'd forgiven Jack for the previous incident.

"That so? How can ya tell?"

"I just can," the boy said with a grin. "Now then. Do you want to get the goats, feed the calves or collect the eggs?"

Jack weighed his options.

"I'll get the goats," he said finally, not sure he wanted to do any.

"All right. You take this milk to mother, and get the goats, and I'll give this milk to the calves and collect the eggs."

"Sounds good," Jack agreed, setting off to carry out his tasks.

He got the milk to Mrs. Sunders without spilling a drop and the he goats followed him back to the barn and into their pen without a hitch. They seemed to be worn out from their day of excitement and hour-long adventure earlier that morning.

He met Bryan at the doorway of the barn with empty buckets and a basket of eggs.

"All done?" he asked cheerfully.

"Aye, all done here," Jack replied.

"Good. Now we can eat."

They were all nearly finished with the meal when Mr. Sunders cleared his throat.

"Tell me, Bryan. How is it that Pirate came to have rooster feathers all over his fur when I got home?"

Jack nearly dropped his forkful of lamb chops at the mention of both the dog and the said canine's name.

Bryan looked up at his father and cast a sidelong glance to Jack who was chewing nonchalantly.

"Um, well, er, that is, sir, um…" the boy stammered.

"You know we have to keep the dog out of the chicken coop. Bryan, how could you have been so careless?"

Bryan chewed desperately on his lip before Jack spoke up.

"Excuse me."

Everyone looked at him.

"If you would allow me to say something?"

Mr. Sunders nodded.

"I found the rooster dead in the pen this morning. Figured it wouldn't hurt the dog so I gave it to him"

Mr. Sunders stared at him, disbelief etched all over his face.

"Well, all right, then," he said finally with an if-you-say-so-but-I-don't-believe-you tone.


	3. Part 3

**A/N: **Consider yourself forewarned: this chapter is not for the very squeamish. ;)

**Of Chickens and Spilled Milk**

**Part two**

**By Kayden Eidyak**

The next few days went much the same. Jack got somewhat better at all his tasks, but by the time the fifth day had passed, he spent every waking minute that he wasn't doing chores or fixing things around the farm praying Anamaria would come back with his ship.

On Saturday, Bryan helped Jack hitch the horses to the plow. The boy set him to work, turning the dirt in the small strip of land they called a field. The pirate soon found that it was infested with rocks and hillocks of stubborn grass with root systems that went six feet down.

According to Bryan, he was supposed to make nice, neat, straight furrows. The horses had other things in mind, however, and by the time he was done, it looked like a dire attempt to turn the dirt to waves.

Bryan had Jack start chores early while he fixed the "lines."

Glad to be through with plowing, Jack swaggered down the barn isle to feed the animals first, rather than milk the cows, because Bryan said that they had to be kept on a schedule for them to give the most milk.

As he tossed hay into Nessley's pen, he noticed a distinct lack of her head hanging over the gate. Leaning the pitchfork against the wall, he looked into the pen and saw Nessley in the corner, lying partly on her side, her flank heaving with heavy breaths.

"What's the matter, lass?" he asked, slipping inside and kneeling by her head. He patted her side. "Has that kid of yours decided it's a mite too cramped in there?" he asked her with a glint of golden teeth.

Then Jack got up and ran full speed back to the field to fetch the expert on cows and their ways.

"Oy! Bryan!"

Bryan pushed back his straw hat and wiped his brow. "Something wrong, Nathan?"

"Nessley, I think she's gonna pop."

Bryan grinned. "Well, it's about time. Hold on, I've only got a couple more strips to do."

Jack stood around nervously, glancing over his shoulder down the hill to the barn every twenty seconds.

"Calm down there, Nathan," Bryan said with a mischievous grin. "You act as if it was your own child."

Jack scowled as Bryan turned the horses around to do the last furrow. At last he was finished and they led the horses back to the barn. He helped Bryan unhitch and rub them down.

"All right. Let's take a look at the mama-to-be," Bryan said at last, brushing the dirt off his hands.

"Oh, yep. She's going have it today," the boy agreed, surveying the cow that was now standing and pawing at the straw in agitation. "Keep an eye on her. I'm going to get the goats and cows."

Jack nodded nervously. "What if something happens?" he asked to Bryan's retreating back.

"Just come get me if anything goes amiss. I'll only be a moment."

That somehow didn't comfort Jack.

Bryan came back a few minutes later with the cows ahead and four goats in tow. While Bryan penned the goats, Jack leapt nimbly off his perch atop Nessley's gate and tied up the cows.

"Where's the other goat?" Jack asked.

"I don't know," Bryan panted. "I have to go look for him," he added, turning to leave.

"Wot? You're going to leave me here with her?" he asked, jerking a thumb towards Nessley.

"It'll be fine," Bryan assured him. He noticed Nathan didn't look convinced. "Look, if it starts to come out you'll see two hooves and a nose. If there's only one foot, or no feet or both feet and no nose it's probably stuck."

Jack's jaw dropped. "But that's not going to happen is it?" he asked, a note of panic touching his voice.

"No, of course not. I'll be back way before then," Bryan said. "But just in case." He turned to go again.

"Wait!"

He turned back, looking as though he was about to start screaming at the older man for delaying him while his goat may be injured or dying.

"What?" he shouted exasperatedly.

"What do I do if that happens?" Jack asked desperately.

Bryan rolled his eyes and slipped through the gate back to the pasture. "Just reach in there an pull it out."

Jack was rendered speechless.

"You mean, like _inside_!"

Bryan came back and stood right in front of Jack so he understood everything perfectly.

"If something goes wrong," he began very slowly, Jack hanging of every word, "Stick your hand in _carefully_ and reposition the calf so ideally, it's got both feet and nose coming first. All right?"

"What if it's backwards?" Jack asked, the idea suddenly occurring to him.

"Nathan, I don't have time to sit around discussing calf birthing to you. Now, it'll be fine. Don't worry, I'll be right back!"

And before Jack could protest, the boy left, running out into the pasture as though his life depended on it.

If Mr. and Mrs. Sunders had been there, he would have run to the house as though _his_ life depended on it to tell them what was going on. But they were intown at the market so Jack was quite alone.

To pass time, he began milking the cows. Every little moo or moan from Nessley had him up to check on her. An hour or so passed and all the cows were milked, and the calves fed. Bryan wasn't back yet.

The pirate leaned against the gate watching Nessley pushing and straining, her sides heaving. Jack was to the point of nail-biting and hair-pulling when Nessley stood up and, just as Bryan had said, her could see a nose, a foot and…

"Oh, bloody hell," Jack muttered, slapping his forehead. He knew this would happen.

He waited several more minutes but there was no progression. Jack ran to the gate and peered out into the dusk, praying that Bryan would be coming up the hill with his goat, but he saw no sight of him.

"Damn!" he hissed, rolling up his sleeve past his elbow.

Grabbing a length of rope, he fashioned a sort of halter the way Bryan had showed him a couple days ago and slipped over the cow's head, tying it to a beam in the wall. He stood behind the cow where still a single little hoof and most of a nose poked out.

There was no room for his hand, let alone his entire arm. He was sure of it. He took hold of the slippery hoof and pulled experimentally on it. Nothing happened. That obviously wasn't going to work. There was nothing for it except to go in. Noticing the ring on his finger, the idea suddenly occurred to Jack that he should take it off, lest it get lost inside. He pulled it off and stuffed it in his pocket, before slipping his hand down along the side of the calf's nose.

Nessley shifted uncomfortably.

"Easy there, lass," Jack said soothingly.

He closed his eyes and felt around desperately for the baby's other foot. After what seemed like hours, he found the leg tucked under its chest, wedging the calf tightly against the cow's pelvis.

The cow strained again, and Jack felt his arm being smashed on all sides by warm slimy muscle.

On the brink of panic, Jack wondered if that was normal and grimaced as the feeling sent shivers up his arm and down his spine.

When his arm was once again free, Jack started easing the calf's foot out as carefully as he could. Progress was incredibly slow and sweat was pouring down Jack's back and dripping off his nose before the tiny hoof emerged. Grabbing hold of both feet, he pulled very slowly, the calf starting to slip forward slightly.

"Yes, come on there, little fella," Jack encouraged, as its head followed the feet.

The shoulders passed with only minimal resistance. After that, the entire calf slid out at a speed that surprised Jack to where he didn't have time to catch the creature before it hit the ground.

"Oy!"

Jack dropped to his knees and pulled the calf's head out from under its body. It lay there motionless.

"Come on," he whispered to the little brown wet thing that lay in front of him.

What should he do? Jack wondered, desperately wracking his brain for a solution.

An image flitted through his mind: A woman sitting on the floor near a fireplace, a cat with a litter of newborn kittens before her. The woman rubbed vigorously at the kitten with a cloth. Jack smiled slightly at one of the few remaining memories of his mother long since dead.

Flinging his hat off, Jack snatched his headscarf and began wiping briskly at the calf's nose. Tossing the scarf aside, he removed his shirt he began rubbing the calf's chest for all he was worth.

The calf jerked. Then it kicked, coughing and spluttering. Using the sleeve of his shirt, Jack wiped out the inside of the calf's mouth. It continued to sneeze and cough, trying to clear its airway of fluids.

Nessley mooed and tugged at the rope. Jack crawled over and untied her. She swung around and began licking at her baby.

Finally the tawny creature lifted its head and mooed pathetically. Jack breathed a sigh of relief and fell back against the wall, panting.

"Nathan?"

Jack struggled to his feet as Bryan peered over the gate.

"Everything all right?"

"I swear, I'm going to kill you," Jack gasped, wagging a finger at the boy.

Bryan caught sight of Jack's bloody and slimy hands, shirt and headscarf and grinned despite himself.

"Don't you smirk at me young man," Jack said in mock anger, raising his arm and cuffing the boy playfully on the head.

Bryan laughed and stepped back. His laughter ended abruptly and he stared at Jack's arm.

Jack followed the boy's gaze and saw that his sparrow tattoo and pirate brand were in clear view.

"Oh, dammit," Jack groaned, whacking his head against the wall.

"You're a pirate?" the boy asked, eyes wide.

"Aye lad. That I am. Now you're going to run off and tell you daddy, aren't you?" he asked, sliding down to sit on the straw.

The boy hefted himself up so he was hanging on the gate looking down at Jack. "Nah, I won't tell him. Always thought there was something funny 'bout you. You're all right, though."

"Didja find your goat?"

"Oh, yes. He went through some brambles and stuck his head through the fence, so it took me forever to find him and even longer to get to him, and then I still had to free him."

"I see. Well, I better get cleaned up and my shirt washed, so no one else learns me secret, savvy?"

Bryan nodded.

At the dinner table that night, Bryan animatedly told his parents of Jack's first calving experience, while Jack tried unsuccessfully to disappear behind his hair in embarrassment. True to his word, Bryan did not mention a word about Jack being a pirate.

Jack had been there for ten days and was really beginning to wonder where Anamaria and Gibbs and the rest of his crew were. As well as he was settling in, the sea was his home and he was beginning to miss it.

During a moment of spare time, Jack set off at a trot down the hill to survey the ships in the harbor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Black Pearl. He stared off into the horizon, a slightly forlorn look on his face, willing himself to see smoky sails.

He saw none.

He trodded back up the hill, somewhat dejectedly, when a horrible thought occurred to him: Suppose Norrington had decided to capture the Pearl's entire crew even if he didn't find Jack on board?

Jack stopped and turned back around and set off to the pub where Mr. Sunders worked. The door still squealed when he opened it and both Tom and Mr. Sunders looked up.

"Cummins? What are you doing here?" Mr. Sunders asked.

"Oh, I was just in for a bit o' rum and the latest news."

Tom poured Jack a glass of rum.

"I suppose you have been up on that hill for a while without coming down," Mr. Sunders mused.

Jack nodded agreeably.

"As for news," Mr. Sunders scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I haven't heard much. Have you, Tom?"

"No, not a scrap of news from anywhere," the old man wheezed. "We never hear anything out here on this little island,"

Jack finished off the rest of his rum.

"Ah well. I best be off." He tipped his hat to the two men and left the little building.

After another week had passed, Jack was getting very close to telling the Sunders that he could stay no longer, and set off in search of the Black Pearl himself.

Another thought then struck Jack and it filled him with memories of terror. What if this had all along been some elaborate plan for mutiny? Over two weeks he had sat here biding his time, while his crew could be half way across the ocean.

Jack flopped to the ground under his usual tree in a state of utter despair.

"Jack Sparrow, is that you?"

Jack's head whipped up and spun around to see none other than Anamaria, Gibbs and Mr. Cotton come striding over the crest of the hill. His jaw dropped and he was completely speechless.

The first thing out of his mouth ended up being one of his most stupidest thoughts: "You didn't mutiny," he managed to say.

The three looked oddly at him.

"You actually though we…" Anamaria's voice trailed off. "Jack Sparrow, I should slap you!"

"What?"

"The entire crew's been looking for you for the last three days!"

"But I've been here the whole time," Jack insisted. "You said you'd come find me!"

The three crewmembers shifted guiltily.

"It seems that Mr. Sanders has a brother," Anamaria began.

"Aye, and he usually ran the pub," Gibbs noted.

"Yes, usually, but he was taken ill a few weeks ago and his brother, James, has been filling in for him."

Jack gulped, willing himself to stay calm. "You mean you sent me to the wrong person!" he gasped.

"We're sorry, Jack, we didn't know. But you should have realized something was amiss when you met a Mr. Sunders waiting for his farmhand. I can't believe you thought we'd put you through that," she finished.

"But I thought that was part of the disguise," Jack protested.

"Honestly, Jack. You should know me better than that."

Jack stood up and brought himself up to his full height.

"Do you have _any_ idea what I've been through?" he practically shouted.

"I can only imagine, but we don't have time to talk about it. We have to go before someone sees us."

"But I can't leave. I have to help Bryan with chores when he gets home from school."

"Oh, come on, Jack. We don't have time for this, let's go."

"No, just go back to the ship. I'll be there later this afternoon."

Anamaria pursed her lips and glared at him. "You're impossible Jack Sparrow. Three weeks ago I couldn't get you off the ship and now I can't get you back on it." She sighed. "All right. We have to leave first thing in the morning though."

Jack nodded.

"Excuse me," a voice from behind said uncertainly.

Jack's rescuers whirled around and Jack stood on tiptoe to see over their heads.

"I'm looking for a Mr. James Sunders," a young man with tousled brown hair and pale blue eyes said, peering closely at a scrap of paper.

"Ah, you must be the new farm hand," Jack said pushing past his crewmates. "We were expecting you two weeks ago."

"Yes, the ship I was on got wrecked in a storm and it took me this long to get here."

"Ah yes. Well, let me introduce you to Mrs. Sunders."

He led the man to the house while Anamaria, Gibbs and Mr. Cotton watched with some amount of disbelief before setting back down the hill.

"Are you Mr. Sunders?" the man asked.

"Um, no. Definitely not. I'm just the old farm hand."

"Oh, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Not to worry, no harm done. I do believe Mr. Sunders is also inside having lunch, so you'll be able to meet him straight away as well."

"Oh, good," the real Nathan Cummins said cheerfully.

Jack opened the door. "Your farmhand's here at last," he called in the door.

Penny and James stopped eating and stared. Something they seemed to be doing a lot since the arrival of this outlandish man.

"What _are_ you talking about, Mr. Cummins?" James asked, getting a very odd look from the newcomer.

"Honestly, mate. You didn't really think I was your farmhand, now did you? I mean, I couldn't even milk a cow before Bryan showed me how. But I do want to thank you because without my time here, I never would have got quite the experience that I've had, so I really am grateful. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm sure this lad here is absolutely famished and I do believe he has quite the tale to tell."

Jack tipped his hat to the trio. "'Ta!"

He stepped through the door and closed it behind him, leaving the Sunders and new farmhand still staring at the spot Jack had been.

Jack set off at a run to the barn. He had to say goodbye to the cows, of course. He patted each on the head in turn and even accepted a sticky kiss from the calf he helped deliver. He tipped his hat to the goats, the horses, sheep and pigs and even the chickens.

"G'day, Pirate," Jack said waving to the dog, at his usual post under the porch.

Down the hill he went as fast as his feet could go. He ran up the steps to the schoolhouse and opened the door quietly. The teacher's explanation of six hundred and twenty two divided by eighty-seven was cut short when she noticed a bedraggled, longhaired creature poking his head in the door.

"May I talk to Bryan? I've a message from his father."

The teacher nodded to Bryan, who got up and looked at Jack questioningly. He followed Jack outside, sitting on the bottom-most step next to him.

"Something wrong, Nathan? Is Da all right?" He asked, worried.

"Yes lad, everything's fine. That was a lie" Jack toyed with the end of his sash, wondering how best to put this. "You know how I'm a pirate, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I came here on accident. I was never supposed to be your farmhand. My crew came today and I'm sailing out first thing tomorrow morning." He glanced at the boy who had a rather expressionless look on his face.

"Who's going to help with chores?" Bryan asked.

"Well, this works out perfectly, because the real farm hand arrived today. So you'll have a new one to train," Jack added with a twisted smile.

"You never milked forty cows a day, did you?" the boy said with a smirk.

"Lad, before I came here, I had never even touched a cow."

"Well, that's all right. You turned out just fine."

Jack smiled.

"Well Bryan, I best be off." He stood up and patted the boy on the shoulder.

"Wait, can I see your ship?" Bryan asked.

"'Fraid not, lad. You've got long division to finish from the sound of it," Jack said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

The boy sighed. "All right then, Nathan. Maybe we'll see each other again someday."

"Maybe," Jack agreed with a wink.

"Wait," the boy said again. "What's your real name?"

Jack bent over so he was eye level with the boy. "You swear to me on pain of death that you shall never tell a living soul my real name as long as you live?"

Bryan nodded enthusiastically.

Jack stood up straight and looped his thumbs through his sash.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"

The boy's mouth formed an 'o' and he mouthed the word 'sparrow.'

"I've heard of you," he said excitedly, trotting after Jack as the pirate started to wend his way down to the harbor.

Jack turned around abruptly, stopping Bryan in his tracks.

"No, you haven't. You've never seen me," he reminded the boy.

Bryan nodded.

"Now, back to school with you," Jack said gesturing towards the grey building.

The boy sighed. "Goodbye then, Nathan."

"G'bye, Bryan."

Bryan stood there watching until Jack disappeared into the crowd before turning back to the schoolhouse to continue his lessons.

Jack found his Pearl anchored amidst the other white sailed ships. Anamaria was waiting for him next to a longboat.

"It's good to see you again, Captain," she said, smiling slightly. "The Commodore's inspection went without a problem, but it was good you weren't there."

Jack got into the boat and rowed back to the Pearl. Once on deck, he looked around at his ship. He stroked the railing fondly and fixed Anamaria's with a stern gaze.

"You know you're never going to hear the end of this, don't you?"

His question was met by Gibbs and Anamaria sniggering uncontrollably.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

Jack's smile glinted and he went into his cabin to make a lengthy entry in the ship's log and take a much-deserved rest on a real bed.

**KaydenEidyak**


End file.
